Modern is a very ugly word.
All I see are tall building, run down apartments, homes cramped together.
I see these ugly thick gray slabs known as roads, where kids are hit and left to die on, and drivers revving their sickly metal beasts, uncaring.
The food I eat doesn’t resemble Nature. It clogs my heart, it makes me weak.
Suits and ties, celebrity glitter: No more Sinatra who went to the common club to sing his tunes. No more gatherings of people to enjoy music without the need to get wasted or laid.
Grow up, go to college, get a job, and work. Be quick about it, because there’s very little opportunity left. It’s all about standards now: opportunity is the past, son. It’s the past.
I can’t even have a moment to breathe and get my head together. It’s one thing after another.
No newspapers, just internet where the light burns your eyes from hours spent, or rakes out the devil in you because your face isn’t visible.
Kids are growing up so fast. No. Slow down, kids. You don’t know what you’re doing. You’re letting your youth go. Slow down. You don’t have to grow up yet.
You don’t have to act like an adult. Slow down. Be respectful. Be kind. Don’t spend it on illicit lovers or sole dedication to a thick textbook. Spend it on the world, what you can see on the four corners and the people you may meet.
I feel terrible for you, son.
You won’t get a chance to taste real food, unprocessed.
You won’t get to sit down by the fireside every night listening to verbal stories from your grandfather or mother.
You won’t get to find kindness as often because of cold metal devices. You won’t meet as many people as you might have in the past.
You’ll think your life is together because you have a small house cramped in the neighborhood in a city that never turns out the lights for the stars to come out at night.
And maybe it’s fine for you.
But you’ll never see the stars at their brightest. You’ll never know the myriad smell of pines, or the dew that sticks to the leaves of a meadow.
You’ll be unable to understand that there are different ways to happiness than the modern standard.
You’ll realize that you’re devoid of opportunity and that even a diploma can’t guarantee a job you’ll love.
You’ll witness more death than I will.
You’ll witness people glorifying death more than I will.
You’ll realize the government no longer listens to it’s citizens.
You’ll never have those freshly baked muffins or pies unless a papa and mama shop chances in the city.
I wish I could have given you more, son.
I wish the things from the olden days were still here for you.